Constants

Nothing But Gratitude How Books Are Made, Part I

Constants

It’sbeen six weeks since I’ve posted. I’d like to use my typical “off with thefairies” excuse—and in some ways, I think I would be justified—but really, timeand creative energy have been sorely depleted.

Iknow some of you loyal, compassionate readers, if you follow me on Facebook,have been waiting to hear the warm, fuzzy details of my romantic relationshipwith “that one guy” (or, if you’re Sean Piscioneri, the guy before that guy—sorry—insidejoke). Alas, the guy who began as a friend and briefly became “boyfriend” hasnow agreed that “friend” is the more healthy status for us. We like each other.Always have since we met 27 years ago. We just don’t… see eye to eye on somethings. It’s not important what they are.

Amongthe critical take-aways from that brief experiment, however, is the fact thatmy mental health can still easily be tipped off balance under certaincircumstances. This surprised me. I mean, seriously, when you get to the age of70, and you’ve spent decades working to shore up your strategies and defensesagainst panic attacks, you float along through life thinking you’re safe fromthem. Then out of the blue a trigger is pulled—however gently—and suddenly yourheart is racing and that dark shadow is just there, over your right shoulder,looming. Takes your breath away. Like, literally.

Soone of my accomplishments this summer was finally—FINALLY, damn it—getting anappointment with a therapist. It took a month, from initial phone request tofinally seeing someone (and by “seeing,” I mean staring at a screen image viaZoom), and I had to push hard with follow-up phone calls. But hey, the energyexpended was worth it. I like my therapist. More on that in future posts, Ipromise—not because I really want to talk about my childhood trauma—I don’t—butbecause I want to do whatever I can to encourage others to seek professionalhelp in being the best version of yourself you can be today. And tomorrow.

Anothersatisfying accomplishment of the summer was writing 31 poems in the month ofAugust and sending them out to strangers on postcards. This was not a zany ideaof my own. Rather, it was part of the annual “Poetry Postcard Fest” sponsoredby Cascadia Poetic Labs, the mission statement of which states: “Empowering people topractice poetry & deepen connections to place, self & the presentmoment.” (Gotta love the alliteration!) The cool thing about signing up for thePPF is that you also (potentially) receive 31 postcards. So far, I’ve gottenabout 20 postcards, mostly handmade and decorated with creative artwork, inaddition to the poetic offerings. It definitely put some pep in my step on mydaily walk to fetch the mail.

Ididn’t expect to write any particularly whiz bang poetry. Just as in the year Iparticipated in NaNoWriMo, I signed up for the PPF simply to challenge myself,to impose the discipline of working on poems in addition to my other writing.(Once upon a time, I did call myself a poet, because I have had a few poemspublished. But that was years ago.)

Surprisingly,though, I was quite satisfied with several of the 31 poems I wrote, and so, forthe first time in decades, I think I’ll send some out, just to see whathappens. Stay tuned.

Asyou can imagine, I needed inspiration for those poems. I also needed time aloneto process pre and post panic attack, so off to the woods I went, hiking everyfew days with Miss Maya Angelou Murphy, who continues to let her guard downwith me. Nature is an inspiration in and of itself, so I was pleased to capturesome photos reflecting my awe.

And,of course, I spent time with my emotional support pals, Sgt. Thomas Tibbs andJenny the Cat. The Dog Who Hated Being Touched has now become The Dog Who Lovesto Be Loved On—brushed, petted, scratched, massaged, whatever. Whenever theworld becomes “too full of weeping,” as Yeats described it, I can sit down nextto Thom, give him head rubbies and ear scratches, and tell him all about it foras long as it takes for my blood pressure to drop to normal again.

Don’tget me started on Jenny’s antics for comic relief. This cat… oh my dragons…. IfI had let her, she would have stayed outside on the patio for the duration ofTropical Storm Hilary as it blew through our town with crazy wind and sidewaysrain. As it was, she stayed out, curled in a corner of the blanket on the patioswing, until I finally made her come in when debris began flying around theyard. And let me tell you, she let me know how unhappy she was about having todo so. She always lets me know exactly how she’s feeling about myunilateral decisions. That’s where dogs and cats are different; dogs say“Okay!” and cats say “Who said so?”

Speakingof cats… and dogs… and dragons: I also spent the summer—as promised—working withartist/illustrator Allie Myers on the cover of Fey Girl, the first book in my DragonSinger series of middle grade fantasy novels. Allie is beyond amazing—I feel attimes she is somehow “seeing” what is in my head—and she has just informed me(as in, this morning!) that the front illustration for the cover is complete.And, oh my dragons, it is exactly—no, it is better than what I had imagined inmy head. I will be sharing that in a separate post, along with more informationabout the series. Since the back cover and spine are simple, the cover shouldbe ready in another two weeks, which means the book could be released as earlyas late October, early November—just in time for Christmas. Again, stay tuned.I am so, so excited about these books, and I can’t wait for all four in theseries to be out in the world.

Ifyou’re still reading, thank you. Let me sign off here with one of the poemsfrom this month’s Fest that I particularly liked, once I was satisfied with thefinal draft.

Constants

S.Kay Murphy

Iwake up moody, musing

Onthe problems of yesterday.

Inthe still-dark, I take the dogs

Outto the yard, looking up,

Asalways, to find my constants.

Thereis Taurus, stretched across

Thesky, the Seven Sisters,

Whisperingsecrets, and proud

Orion,on his back in August,

Perpetuallysighting his arrow